First Contact
by LoyaulteMeLie
Summary: Enterprise is preparing for the mission to find the Xindi. Part of those preparations include the arrival of new personnel ... and not everyone on board is happy about it.
1. Chapter 1

**Star Trek and all its intellectual property is owned by Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no profit made.**

 **This story has not been been beta-read, and therefore any mistakes in it are mine.**

 **Author's Note 1: Em Gomez and Bernhard Muller are borrowed by kind permission of Chrysa and Volley respectively.**

 **Author's Note 2: This was a small plot bunny which hopped out of its burrow and nibbled me on the ankle till I got the story written. If anyone is responsible it's Rigel99, who brought Major Hayes alive on the page.**

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 _"Shuttlebay to Lieutenant Reed."_

The Head of the Department heard the call, but did not respond immediately. His head, bent over a PADD, didn't even move for just half a second, and his Gamma Shift second-in-command noted that omission and drew her own conclusions.

"Gomez." She pressed the comm button herself; it wouldn't do for anyone to think the Armoury staff were slow.

"Shuttlepod Two is on final approach, Ma'am. Lieutenant Reed asked to be notified."

"I'll pass on the message. Thank you. Gomez out." She cut the communication and – carefully unobtrusive about it – shot a thoughtful, summing look at her _Patrón._

She didn't repeat the information; she didn't need to. Everyone in the Armoury could have heard it, and its senior officer would certainly not have suddenly become hard of hearing – even though she herself had reason to suspect that he would rather have liked to have done so.

The days and hours of ceaseless, intensive work on preparing _Enterprise_ for the new mission had been exhausting. Everyone was tense, their nerves on the stretch for any news of a second attack materialising from the limitless reaches of space without warning. So far no attack had materialised, but still the tension remained. The pressure on the shoulders of the man in charge of the ship's weaponry was so intense that he was strung tighter than cheese wire; always an exacting taskmaster, he was no harder on his subordinates than he ever was, but today there was a sense that he was holding himself in check on an iron rein. In ordinary circumstances there was a comfortable knowledge that as long as the work was done well and promptly there was a little leeway for banter, but now the Armoury staff worked in silence. Nobody wanted to draw his attention their way while that thundercloud was so conspicuously visible on his brow.

Even Em – who got away with more than most, though never failing to accord him absolute respect – hesitated somewhat before gently touching his arm. "Lieutenant, the shuttle will be docking at any moment."

He stared down at the rifle on the desk in front of him, its component parts neatly laid out ready for reassembling. "Thank you, Ensign." His voice was inexpressive, unless you knew him extremely well.

Em was one of those who knew him that well. "I will accompany you to the Shuttlebay, sir."

Not even a glance acknowledged her formality, or the extreme rarity of that honorific from her in such relatively informal circumstances. It was unlikely he hadn't noticed – he noticed everything – but right now he was far too strung up to react to it. Nor did he refuse, as he would ordinarily have done, and that in itself spoke volumes.

They left the Armoury. Neither of them spoke as they strode down the corridors.

As they reached the turbo-lift, however he seemed to emerge from his reverie. "On second thoughts, Ensign, it may not make the best impression if there are two of us. It may imply that I feel in need of reinforcements."

His grin as he spoke was bitter and brief, and she nodded. That had occurred to her too. But she was in little doubt that he had a tough furrow to plough, and she wanted him to feel that he had the support of his department as well as his junior officers – and for the new arrivals to see it. They all felt the same mixture of resentment and apprehension that he did, and for all that he rarely made any display of his sensitivity to his staff's mood, he was undoubtedly aware of it.

" _Buena suerte, Patrón_ ," she murmured, giving him as sympathetic a look as she dared before she turned away to return to the Armoury. He would need all the good luck he could get.

Bernhard was working on one of the new torpedoes when she returned. He glanced up, and there was the same undertone of worry in his voice as he asked whether this was the first of the new MACOs arriving.

" _Sí._ " Mentally she heaped curses on the captain's oblivious head. Surely the _capitán_ must understand how savage a blow to his Armoury Officer's pride it was to have 'professional' soldiers brought on board – as though his own security staff were not competent to carry out demanding duties when their commander asked it of them! If he did, however, she was reasonably certain that he had not addressed that issue with Lieutenant Reed. On the day it had been revealed that the ship was to carry a complement of MACOs when the mission started, the Armoury Head had returned to his department pale with anger, and passed on the news to his juniors in a voice from which emotion had been so carefully and utterly excised that they understood perfectly well that he was enraged – and bitterly offended on his department's behalf.

Historically there was intense rivalry between 'squids' (the derisive MACO term for fleeters) and 'sharks'. The nickname, derived from the MACO badge, summed up the contempt in which the non-combatant Starfleet crews were held. It was unlikely that any of the _Enterprise_ crew had welcomed the news of their soon-to-be bunk-mates, and the Armoury staff would be the most resentful of them all – with their Department Head still bristling at the perceived insult as the first of the incomers arrived.

Space aboard the ship being limited, living quarters were having to be modified, and everyone would have to make do with somewhat cramped quarters to accommodate the new arrivals. Em and Bernhard had already submitted a request that instead of sharing their own quarters with MACOs they could share a cabin with each other – since they covered different shifts this would not be an issue. Strictly speaking this was not an arrangement likely to foster an attitude of acceptance, but their senior officer had already given them permission, and by the glitter in his eye as he did so, was prepared to defend his right to do so if challenged on it.

It was unfortunately likely that he would be challenged on it – and on many other matters beside. The MACO contingent was to be headed by a Major Hayes, and that officer technically outranked him. As the resident Head of Security the lieutenant would effectively be the senior officer of the two, but there was little doubt that his decisions would be subject to scathing scrutiny, if not challenged at every turn.

Short of a miracle, it would not be a comfortable relationship.

Perhaps only now that it was threatened had it become clear how smooth and unruffled the working atmosphere in the Armoury had been under Malcolm Reed's firm and steady guidance.

Maybe they were worrying over nothing. After all, it might be that the unknown Major was prepared to compromise, and to work amicably with his new superior, regardless of their respective ranks.

" _So Gott will._ " The murmur from her opposite number in charge of the Beta Shift showed that his mind had been running on exactly the same wavelength as hers. They exchanged expressive looks. Things would be difficult enough during the coming months without friction in the command chain, but they knew all too well that their senior officer had every expectation of having to fight like a tiger to maintain his authority.

Em and Bernhard sighed almost in unison, and got to work on the warhead of the torpedo.

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	2. Chapter 2

Through the window of the control booth of the Shuttlebay hangar, Malcolm watched expressionlessly as the docking clamp lowered the captive Shuttlebay 2 to the floor.

If he wished in his heart of hearts that the shuttlepod might have somehow lost its way between Jupiter Station and the ship, nobody could have detected that from his face. The occasional nervous glance the crewman supervising the loading shot him passed over his consciousness almost without leaving a mark. His attention was focussed like a laser on the gull-wing door, behind which the 'pod's occupants would be waiting for the news that atmosphere was restored in the Shuttlebay and they could now make their exit.

The upgrades to the Armoury and its complement of weapons had occupied almost all of his time during the previous few weeks, but hours of what should have been his relaxation and sleep time had been spent on poring over the records of the MACOs – with an effort he refrained from mentally labelling them 'the intruders' – who would be added to his already heavy responsibilities. He'd gone through them with the finest of toothcombs, even making sundry somewhat unofficial enquiries to old contacts in search of information that might not necessarily appear on standard Starfleet databases. He'd already discovered that one of the corporals had the Section's muddy fingerprints on her, and made a note to keep a very beady eye indeed on that young lady's activities. Telling her what he knew, however, would be to warn her in advance and thereby lose his advantage. He wondered if Major Matthew Hayes was aware of it.

Probably not.

As little as Malcolm liked to admit it even to himself, Hayes' service record was exceptionally impressive. General Casey had sent _Enterprise_ the best that was available, and the squad that came with him was made of extremely tough stuff. The reluctant realisation that, for all his coaching and their own dedication, his own people would be miserably outclassed by the new arrivals in any serious combat situation had only served to worsen his mood.

He was fully aware of the disdain in which MACOs held their ancient 'squid' rivals; it went back to the days of the Marines aboard wooden-hulled Navy sailing ships, who were the ones who did the fighting while their humbler comrades did nothing more intellectually demanding than haul on ropes and scrub decks. He knew that that attitude still prevailed, and that the squad who were coming aboard would have little comprehension of the vast differences in skill sets required to run a starship as opposed to hauling ropes and scrubbing decks on board a man o' war, and little more respect for the men and women who had to be at the top of their fields to be chosen to serve aboard the flagship of the Fleet.

As for the man who would be in charge of them, the awareness that the major technically outranked him set grim apprehension in his breast. No MACO officer was going to relish taking order from a subordinate 'squid', and the psych-eval on Hayes was unstinting in its description of his tough attitude. Well, if Hayes didn't like it, Hayes would bloody well have to lump it!

As the shuttlepod door finally opened, an onlooker would have seen Malcolm Reed's chin lift ever so slightly, with the wary arrogance of a stag scenting a rival for control of the herd.

The captain had been definite. The MACOs were to be considered a part of the Security department, and as such they fell within his sphere of authority.

 _In_ cluding Major Matthew Hayes.

And if there were to be any clash of antlers on that score, he was more than ready for it.

A number of MACOs stepped from the shuttlepod. Very much on their toes, immaculately turned out in military gear, sweeping assessing eyes around the launch bay for potential ambush sites and personnel. His gaze flickered over them all, dismissing each one except the man who stood in their midst, head up with alert confidence, summing up the new situation with a clear, wide-eyed gaze. Almost as though he'd felt the eyes on him – and as an experienced battle commander he probably did – Hayes' stare travelled within seconds to the control booth and the man watching him from it.

There was no stiffening. The major endured the shock of contact without any sign of unease or resentment, his calm unbroken.

In his turn, Malcolm remained glacial. Not so much as a flicker betrayed the information he'd gained from that first clash of eyes.

If he was to retain his dominance of the herd, he'd have to fight for it _._

 _Every damned foot of the way._

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	3. Chapter 3

The sensation of the shuttlepod coming lightly to rest on the floor of the ship's launch bay caused the MACOs within to draw a long, soundless, communal breath. The preparation was over; the mission proper was about to begin.

Their commanding officer Major Matthew Hayes was aware of it, but felt no need to comment on it or to issue any instructions to his juniors. The pilot would give them instructions, and until then they would wait in disciplined silence.

He himself neither moved nor spoke, waiting just as they were to be told what to do. In this situation he was just part of the luggage, and he accepted that with neither offense nor impatience. When he was told to act, he would act with dispatch; until then he was a past master at waiting, conserving his strength and thinking his own thoughts.

Although none of those thoughts showed on his face, he was keyed up to a high pitch of readiness. He had done his homework on the assignment as thoroughly and as methodically as he usually did, and he was aware that for him, combat would not necessarily wait until they encountered the Xindi. It was, of course, possible that he was just being pessimistic taking that view, but in all situations he believed in hoping for the best and preparing meticulously for the worst.

The idea of long-distance space travel did not particularly bother him, except insofar as the weeks they could expect to be confined in the extremely limited space on board ship would restrict the nature of the training exercises the MACOs could carry out. He was well aware that boredom was one of the deadliest enemies to a fighting unit's edge, and his squad was hungry for action. It would take them weeks even to reach the edge of this 'Delphic Expanse' of which the Vulcans had spoken, and possibly weeks – or even months, if not years – after that for _Enterprise_ to track down the mysterious Xindi, if that was even possible. During the periods when the ship was in flight, there would probably be little to occupy his people, and whatever he found for them to do would have to be carefully designed not to interfere with the work of the crew.

It would be difficult. But not, he thought, impossible. Particularly if the ship's Head of Security should prove amenable to working together sensibly for the common good.

If.

He wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea of taking orders from a guy he outranked, but common sense dictated that Lieutenant Reed had the experience out here in space that he lacked. In these circumstances it was experience that counted, not the number of stripes on the sleeve, and before anything else Hayes was a realist. When he had something to say he'd speak up firmly enough, but at least to begin with he'd do better to keep his lip buttoned till he had a handle on how things worked around here. When he'd had time to acquire a good working knowledge of the ship's routines and to weigh up the strengths and weaknesses of the crew, he'd be in a better position to voice an opinion. And most importantly of all, he had to weigh up the mettle of the man who'd be calling the shots aboard _Enterprise_ for him and his team.

He'd done his homework there, too. He was already acquainted with the command structure on board ship, and in particular with the identity and background of the Head of Security. The fact that the guy was a Brit was neither here nor there, though the chilly stare of the photograph in Reed's records wasn't encouraging. The look of aloof superiority in that high-boned face might be no more than a coincidence, however; Mackenzie's records photo, for instance, made her look like a backstreet drugs dealer.

What worried Hayes rather more was the Brit's service record. A period of some years simply said 'Classified', and although he'd been able to find out that Reed had been in Starfleet's service during that time, it wasn't good to have no clue as to what he'd actually done. This wasn't idle curiosity; it mattered enormously how much experience every man of the team had in what field, and Hayes wanted to have confidence that the man who'd be giving him orders wasn't some toy soldier who'd never fired a gun in anger. From the time the guy had left the Academy, however, until he'd appeared on board _Enterprise_ like the genie popping out of the lamp, his activities were veiled from view.

During one of his debriefings, the MACO had raised this concern with General Casey. Presumably, however, the general had higher security access, or at least knew those who did, because the question had been dismissed with a head-shake and a grim smile. "You'll have no problem of that sort, Major."

There hadn't been any reassurance forthcoming that there wouldn't be problems of other sorts, but Hayes had served under some genuine hardass commanders in his time and viewed the prospect stoically. There was always more than one way of killing a cat, as some of those previous commanders had discovered. As long as Reed was as intelligent as rumor made him, surely somehow the two of them could work out some way to co-operate. They didn't have to be bosom buddies, just work together to make the best use of their combined and separate strengths. Surely, squid or no, the lieutenant would understand that?

So Major Hayes had reasoned, partly reassured by the obvious confidence Captain Archer placed in his Tactical Officer. There was no doubting the utter determination Archer felt to get the best people for the job on board his ship, and if he'd had any doubts whatever that Reed wasn't up to it, he'd have been off the ship in smart order. So like him or loathe him, Reed was the guy who'd be issuing the orders during the mission. It only remained to be seen now exactly what sort of an officer he proposed to be to his new subordinates.

"You're free to go, gentlemen." The young pilot had been carrying out post-flight checks, and now turned in his seat with a friendly, flashing smile. "Welcome to _Enterprise_."

"Thanks for the smooth ride, Ensign." Hayes spoke for his still-wary team.

"Any time."

The shuttlepod's door lifted smoothly to show the area of the launch bay. Unsurprisingly, it was deserted; having been exposed, however briefly, to the bitter cold of hard vacuum it would take a few minutes for the warmth of the air to penetrate any exposed metal surfaces. Naturally, having been exposed for considerably longer, the surface of the shuttlepod itself was burning cold; all of the passengers were well aware that they shouldn't put their hands near it when they left the craft, and to do him credit Ensign Mayweather hadn't reminded them of it once assured they'd all done their space training. Hayes was well accustomed to making fast and accurate judgments of a person's character, and he appreciated the warmth of the young ex-Boomer's welcome. If everyone on board shared this kind of attitude, then the mission might be less of an ordeal than he'd come prepared for.

If.

There was no sense in lingering. The sooner they were out of here and installed into their working routine, the sooner they could start becoming accustomed to life on board.

On his orders, the squad left the shuttle in an orderly fashion and stood waiting outside to be given instructions. There was no doubt that somebody would have been told of their arrival and be waiting to see them disposed in their new quarters.

Too many combat situations had given Matthew Hayes an unerring sense of sights trained on him. Without haste he lifted his gaze to what must be the control booth and the officer standing there. Maroon piping on the blue jumpsuit, two pips gleaming above the right collar-bone, and a stance so rigid the guy might as well have been poured into a mold and left to set; still, it hardly needed any of these to tell Hayes instantly who was looking down at him. The eyes might as well have come fitted with cross-hairs as standard.

No accompanying staff to soften the reception. Reed was making a statement, one he didn't mean to be misunderstood: _I'm the boss._

Inside Hayes' brain the many potential pathways of the mission fused into one. Nebulous hopes were discarded without a second glance, though not without an instant's regret. The pattern of his and Reed's relationship was already set, because that was the way Reed wanted it to be.

For just that one instant of regret, he allowed himself to feel that it was kind of a shame, because that instinct on which he'd so often relied said the lieutenant was someone to be trusted; perhaps, in a different world, even liked. But that was not to be. Without a word being spoken, war had already been declared.

So be it.

 _Let battle commence._

 **The End.**

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